


lying in the ocean, singing your song

by SlayBelle (theswisswereright)



Series: we're on a quick, sick rampage [4]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bittybones (Undertale), Bitty Death, Bitty abuse, Drowning, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 03:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18402104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theswisswereright/pseuds/SlayBelle
Summary: Through no fault of your own, you come into possession of the nastiest little Bitty around. You aren't going to let his misbehavior slide.





	lying in the ocean, singing your song

**Author's Note:**

> I once had a new family pet actually destroy one of my favorite books, but it was cheap and easily replaced. I was still mad about it, but he was my puppy brother until he died last September at the ripe old age of 18. 
> 
> I miss him very much.
> 
> Nevertheless, that event and the feelings of anger involved were the inspiration for this story.
> 
> PLEASE HEED THE TAGS. If what's listed in the tags isn't your jam, don't read this fic. Otherwise, proceed.

You were completely at a loss.

You’d spent the first few hours patiently explaining the house rules, and pointing out specific areas that were to be left alone.

You’d spent the hour after that mourning the loss of all of the new issues of your magazine subscriptions, and doing your level best not to lose it.

You’d spent the hour after that screaming yourself hoarse, as every phone charger you had was “mysteriously” bitten in half.

Now, you were trying incredibly hard to keep breathing evenly, and your hands were clenched with the rage you were trying to hold back. The dust jacket of one of your favorite books—in fact, one of your first-edition, out-of-print favorite books—was in tatters on the ground, and several puncture holes lined the cover of the book itself. You didn’t think you’d ever been this angry before.

Your mother had thought she was doing you a favor. She thought you wouldn’t be so lonely if you had a pet around to keep you company. She visited a local adoption center, and saw “the most precious little darling” being heckled by a crowd of visitors, who were apparently unimpressed with his displays of toughness. You’d discovered, upon looking at the receipt, that the most likely reason your mother had selected this particular Bittybones, an Edgy, for you, was that he had only cost her $5.00. 

As far as you were concerned, your mother had gotten swindled, and you were about three seconds from suing the shit out of the garbage “bitty shelter” that had thought it was okay to adopt out this evil little freak to innocent, unsuspecting people. A quick Internet search had revealed that they were completely trash pets, but you guessed she hadn’t known better. Who would _want_ a pet that could talk (but only said rude things), bit for absolutely no reason, and destroyed everything in the house that you held dear?

Ah, speaking of the little monster himself, you’d finally managed to catch him and restrain him so he couldn’t get free. You silently congratulated yourself for your ingenuity in tying his wrists with fishing line and tying the fishing line to the light fixture that hung low over your kitchen island. He now hung limply from the wrists, dangling helplessly and swaying slightly back and forth, kinetic energy left over from his earlier struggles. You supposed it was time to get on with his punishment. “Oh, Edgy~” you addressed him, not having bothered to name him. It had become clear after the first incidents of destruction that he wasn’t going to be with you too long.

The Edgy looked up, face mostly exhausted, but still trying to bare his fangs at you. “Fuck you, bitch,” he said, swinging back and forth a little harder. 

“Now, that isn’t very nice, is it, sweetums?” you cooed, placing a finger in the middle of his bare back and making him sway like you were pushing a child in a swing. You’d stripped him of his clothing once you’d gotten him tied securely. “When I took you out of the box, we had a nice, long talk about the house rules, didn’t we?”

The bitty didn’t answer.

“And I _know_ I told you that biting and tearing were only for your toys, right?” Your mother had handed him over with several different kinds of toy, none of which he’d given a second look.

“I’m not a _dog_. I don’t like chew toys,” the Edgy grumbled.

“Oh, no, you’re certainly not a dog,” you answered, the venom beginning to enter your voice. “Why, if you were a dog, I wouldn’t be nearly so angry! A dog doesn’t understand that what he’s doing is wrong. But you…” you searched about on the counter for the flexible switch you’d cut off of the tree in your backyard, “You knew those things you destroyed were important to me, and you wrecked them anyway. You’re worse than a dog could ever be!”

“You wanted to stick me in a cage!” the Edgy protested. “I’m not a hamster! I’m a person!” He renewed his struggles to get free, and you enjoyed watching him dance like a puppet on his strings.

“That, little bitty, is where you’re wrong,” you answered, raising the switch. “You’re an animal, and a nasty little vermin at that. You are _worthless_.” With that, you delivered a hard, stinging strike across the plump ecto-flesh of his backside. His bottom jiggled and bounced in response, but the Edgy didn’t make a sound. “You can’t do anything useful for anyone,” you continued, smacking him again, this time across his meaty thighs. “You have no purpose.” Another hit. When you looked at the bitty’s face to see his reaction, you saw that he’d bitten straight through his tongue, and was now bleeding freely down his chin. Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes, but they hadn’t fallen yet. You’d have to fix that. 

“You’re probably too stupid to understand what money is, but do you know how much the bitty store thought you were worth?” You didn’t wait for an answer, hitting him again, right over the first raised welt you’d made. This time, the Edgy jumped and whimpered. “Five dollars. I could maybe buy like three sodas with that,” you continued, winding up and giving an especially hard swat on the lower curve of his ass. “They were dying to have you gone.”

Ah, there were the tears. Trails of clear red dripped down the bitty’s face, running down his ribs and drying there. The Edgy had started to shake all over, and seemed seconds from crying out loud. “No one wants you,” you hit him on the thighs again, “I definitely don’t want you,” another stinging blow, “and you fucked up any chance you had of a happy home by _ruining my stuff_ ,” as you landed the hardest smack yet at the tops of his thighs. His whole body was wracked with sobs, and he’d begun crying out in earnest. “No one cares what happens to you,” you finished, hitting him with the switch so hard that the skin split open in a thin line and began to bleed.

The Edgy screamed wordlessly, and suddenly excess magic was dripping from its pelvis to form a pool on your countertop. You didn’t let up, but continued spanking him until he wasn’t moving any longer. It seemed he’d passed out. You sighed, upset that your fun had been interrupted—what fun was hitting the little rodent when he couldn’t feel it?

 

\---------

 

When the Edgy woke up, the first thing he felt was that he was wet. The second thing he felt was the horrible stinging pain in the wounds on his backside. He tasted salt, and realized he’d come to sitting up in a small bucket of saltwater.

“Oh, good, you’re awake!” you said, all false cheer. “Well, I had to clean you off somehow, since you wet yourself like the disgusting little _animal_ you are.”

“Get me out of here!” the bitty protested, splashing around frantically. 

“Hmmm… no,” you answered. “I don’t think you’re clean enough yet! Tell you what, you sit in there for another ten minutes and I’ll dry you off and let you get dressed.”

The Edgy growled, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. His ankles were tied together with the same clear string that had held his wrists before. He could manage ten more minutes, right?

“Oh, right, and I’ll be adding another glass of water to the bucket every minute! I hope you can swim!” you carried on brightly, holding up a drinking glass full of fluid. Edgy bitties were not great swimmers, and you knew that very well. This one, as chubby as he was, was sure to be even worse. “Go!” you exclaimed, and dumped the first glass of water over his head. The bitty spluttered, and the water level rose. Soon his feet wouldn’t touch the ground, you mused, as you watched him stand awkwardly on his bound-together legs. Maybe that part wasn’t really _sporting_ , but it was precious to watch him struggle. You added another glass, not really counting the minutes, and watched the Edgy hop repeatedly to keep his head above the water. He couldn’t keep that up forever.

“Stop!” he cried out at the apex of a jump, before his mouth dipped below the water again. He coughed. “I’ll be good! Please… let me go!” 

“You had so many chances to be good!” you sang out, and dumped yet another full glass of water into the bucket. The Edgy seemed to be getting tired, and you could see in his eyes the realization that he wasn’t going to make it out of this. He slammed himself into the sides of the bucket, trying to tip it over, but failed because you held the vessel tight to the counter. Another glass, and now the water level was about six inches over his head. You looked down into the bitty’s eyes as he tried to push himself up for one more gasp of air, and saw him open his mouth and inhale nothing but water. You saw his body thrash and his limbs flail as he tried desperately to make his way to the surface, but his muscles were just too tired. You stared into his glowing red eyes as he sank to the bottom of the bucket for the last time, and kept watching as both his eyes and the glowing soul-light in his chest went out.

Well, now you had a bucket full of dusty water to deal with, but it could have been worse. You could pour the little scumbag down the drain and be done with this whole wreck of a situation. You could tell your mother that there must have been something wrong with the little darling, because you’d put him to bed and kissed him goodnight, and then woken up to a cage full of powder. _You know those bitty shelters don’t take great care of their animals, right, Mom? Oh, no, I couldn’t bear to have another one so soon. My heart is still broken._

You lifted the bucket and tipped the contents into the sink. Time to go browse eBay for a replacement copy of that book that your _dear, departed_ little Edgy darling had ruined.


End file.
